Duly Noted
by MontyTheDog
Summary: "I'd die before I let anything happen to you." Following a handful of close calls regarding Deeks and his reckless tendencies, Kensi decides to take Granger's job offer. K/D
1. Chapter 1

_**Psalm 59:1**_

_Deliver me from my enemies, O God; protect me from those who rise up against me._

She hadn't slept the night Deeks almost died. After dropping him off at his apartment (he couldn't drive; his motorcycle had been confiscated) she'd stayed up, feeling the impact of her body against his as she'd shoved him out of the way, the breeze from the speeding truck causing her ponytail to sway. The ground below her had been hard, their bodies kicking up dust. She could still feel gritty specs of it in her hair even though she'd rinsed, washed, and repeated twice.

That's why when Granger asked to speak with her in private and offered her an off-the-grid job that would give her a bonus of nearly fifty grand and leave the door wide open for her to become assistant director after he retired, she declined. One, it was too dangerous, basically an over-glorified suicide mission. But more troubling than that, there was Deeks. Who would be there to shove him out of the way when cars sped at him, their speedometer rising from 0 to 60 in mere seconds? Who would talk him to sleep, make sure he was eating correctly, save him from himself?

So, yeah, she'd declined. And when Deeks pulled two stunts similar to the one he had when he'd nearly gotten himself ran over, she's glad she did because he'd be dead had she not been there to save him. The first incidence after the car was a bullet heading directly for his chest. When she'd tackled him to the ground she'd felt a sting which she would discover later to be a graze on her forearm, deep enough to require stitches. It was nothing, really. Not that she could convince him otherwise.

_"You should've-"_

_"What, let you take a bullet? It's just a scratch."_

_"It could've been a lot worse."_

_"Yeah, it could've. You could be dead right now."_

The third occurrence, the one that made Kensi snap, had happened that night. Kensi and Deeks had been checking out a warehouse that was rigged to blow, the timer set for thirty seconds. She'd sprinted out like any sane person would do, her partner promising her that he was right behind her when she hesitated, sensing that he wasn't following. With the reassurance that he was only a foot away, she jumped out of the building right before it blew. But when she turned a three sixty and saw no Deeks, she panicked.

_"Deeks!" she screamed, panic weighing heavily on her body. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her head spinning._

_"Deeks!" she repeated, louder. _God, no. Please, God._ She didn't stop to think or weigh her options. Before she knew it, she was back in the burning building._

_She let out a yelp of fear as a ceiling beam alight with fire came toppling down, knocking her shoulder. And then she was on fire. Her shirt was burning. Blisters stung as they rose on her probably fractured collar bone, and she ripped off her flaming button down, revealing a soot covered white tank top._

_Thick smoke wrapped around her lungs, her eyes watered. She tried to scream his name, but the words wouldn't come out. She kept moving, trying to work around the inferno of flames. The burn on her more than likely broken clavicle ached, and all of the pain on top of the not knowing if her partner was alive or not was pure agony._

_Just before she was about to give up and succumb to unconsciousness, she saw a body through her swimming vision. A body wearing jeans and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a body with ash covered blonde hair._

_The encouragement of seeing her partner, knowing that he would die if she stopped her pursuit, prompted her to stumble over to him. He wasn't awake, and she didn't have time to check for a pulse. He was propped up against a wall, a window directly above him._

_She tried to tell herself that he'd probably been trying to escape, that he'd tripped and realized he wouldn't have enough time to exit out of the door, so he tried to escape from the window but couldn't make it. She refused to accept the fact that her partner was, in short, suicidal._

_She found a brick lying near her, chucking it at the glass. She shielded his head with her body as the glass fell, shards of it embedding into her skin. Hoisting herself outside of the broken window, she winced as the jagged edges of unevenly broken glass dug into her arms. Ignoring the shooting pain in her collarbone, she grabbed Deeks under his arms, dragging him out of the building to safety. About five seconds later, the roof collapsed._

_Adrenaline surged through her, but before she allowed herself to take a deep breath of the fresh air her body had been deprived of, she pressed her ear against her partner's chest, listening for a heartbeat. When she found one, she nearly cried in relief._

_G, Sam, and the paramedics found her and Deeks passed out together, the side of her face pressed against his chest, smoke curling off of the seams of his jeans. Her body was sprawled across his torso, half of her abdomen on his, her legs jut out beside of her lopsided body. He'd regained consciousness the minute an oxygen mask was pressed against his face on the stretcher, and she had later in the ambulance. One sling, some Neosporin, and a few icepacks later, she was home, and so was he. Or, at least, she thought he was._

She adjusted the frozen pack of peas on her arm, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate the cuts on her back. Sighing in frustration when she couldn't find a descent angle, she sat up, removing her sling and tossing it half way across her living room. It was restricting, and she hated it. There were few things she disliked more than being confined by restrains. Fire was one of them.

She could still feel the heat of the flames on her back, probably because her collarbone (which turned out to be, as she suspected, fractured but not in need of surgical repair) had a second-degree burn on it. She'd came home and took a cold shower before putting on the shortest shorts she owned and a tank-top that didn't have holes burned through it. The fan was on and the AC was cranked up to sixty five degrees.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts about the day's events, and when she saw her partner through her peephole she debated on answering or not. "Nobody's home," she deadpanned, raising her voice so that he could hear through her door.

"C'mon, Kens. Open up. Please?" He held out the please, making it sound like a kid who wanted a toy from his mother desperately. P_leasepleasepleasepleaseple-e-ease?_

Reluctantly, she unlocked the deadbolt first before the actual doorknob, sighing as she opened it. "What do you want?"

"To drink these beers with my partner," he said, holding up a six pack. In his other hand was a bag, presumably burgers or Chinese food. But, for once in her life, she wasn't hungry. Or maybe she just didn't have an appetite. Either way, food was the furthest thing from her mind.

Stepping aside to allow him access into her living room, she grumbled, "Only because you brought beer."

"Noted. And they're uh, cold."

He understood, she understood. Right now, cold was good. Beyond good.

She slipped one out of the pack before he'd even sat down, taking it while he still held the case in his hand. She 'ah'ed, sipping the cool beverage and feeling it slide down her throat which had been a little irritated ever since the fire. She always felt like she could cough at any given moment, like she could hack up ashes.

"Where's your sling?" he asked, taking out a burger and handing it to her. She accepted it but didn't so much as unwrap it, and in turn he didn't touch his.

"Not needed."

He chuckled a little, shaking his head in disbelief. "You need your sling, unless you want to hurt yourself even more."

"_I_ didn't hurt myself. A beam fell on me while I was trying to save your sorry ass."

"I'm sorry, Kens, I-"

"What?" she interrupted, huffing angrily as she pressed the bottle against a new found burn on her left wrist. It had gone unnoticed in the grand scheme of things, but now that her most prominent burn was treated and her clavicle was relatively dulled by pain pills, she was starting to notice all of the little scratches and sears. "I want to hear this. What were you thinking?"

She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that he was about to hit the ground, and he didn't want to. He wanted to continue falling through air, skydiving. Crashing and burning wasn't on his agenda.

"You sure as hell weren't thinking about yourself. Or me. What, did you think I'd just sit there and watch you burn? I'm your partner. I saved you from that car, that bullet... did you honestly think for one minute I wouldn't go in after you?"

He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, stopping before he does. "Or did you just hope?" she asked quietly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Kensi..."

"I know what you're doing, and I need you to stop, Deeks." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She feared that if she raised it like she wanted to it would crack. "You can't just..."

"That wasn't reckless behavior, Kens. I got lost, I heard the bomb go off, I passed out. Simple as that."

"Really? Then how do you explain the car and the bullet, huh?"

"I thought the car would stop, and I didn't think the bullet would hit me. Which it didn't," he answered simply.

"Yeah, it hit me," she all but growled, raising her hand to scratch absently at where the stitches had been on her arm out of habit.

"I didn't ask you to get yourself hurt because of me, Kensi." His voice was measured, his jaw clenched.

"What if I was trying to kill _myself_? Would you just stand there and watch?"

"I'm not trying to-"

"Dammit, Deeks! Just shut up. Stop. I know that you need adrenaline. I _know_. You can't do... this."

"I don't have PTSD, Kensi. Yeah, I was tortured. Yeah, it sucked. I'm not Jack."

The words were like a slap to the face, and that was when she felt dampness sting the back of her eyes, her hands tight balls. "You're acting enough like him."

Why was it that every time she found somebody she cared about, they tried to get away from her? Jack, now Deeks... hell, her own mother hadn't come looking for her after she ran away, didn't make a conceited effort to get her off the streets after her father died.

"You have to stop getting hurt, okay? You have to stop it with the fire and the cars and the bullets," he said softly, noticing the tears in her eyes. He even tried to reach a hand out for her good shoulder, but she shrugged it away.

"I'd die before I let anything happen to you." The words were out before she could think about what she'd just said, and she immediately regretted them. Deeks and her... they were more than partners. More than best friends. But she wasn't about to let herself get any closer than she already was, especially when all he seemed to want to do was pull stupid, borderline suicidal moves.

Deeks licked his lips and swallowed, and she looked away. "You promised me that... You promised me you wouldn't... Please, Deeks. Just... see a therapist or-"

"I don't need one. I don't have PTSD anymore. I passed my psych eval, I got field work clearance-"

"Dammit, Deeks," she interrupted, her words tumbling out of her mouth quickly and ungracefully, but she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. "Can't you see that I can't live without you? Don't you understand that if you ever died, I'd... I'd..." Kensi inhaled sharply, beyond the point of caring if she revealed something potentially relationship altering. "Deeks, I-"

He interrupted her with his lips landing on hers, a hand twisted into her hair. The kiss was electric, and it deepened quickly, rapidly becoming more passionate. Years of tension poured out, words left unsaid, hidden meanings and heated touches mixing into one thrilling release of emotion that took the form of an embrace. His taste was addicting, his lips soft but firm on hers. Kensi struggled as she tried to decide to break the kiss so that she could fill her lungs with air that was becoming more of a necessity with each passing second, and finally her need for oxygen became unavoidable and she pulled away from him, just a fraction. Their noses were still nearly touching, and his breath fanned against her lips, mingling with hers.

"Deeks," she breathed, raising the hand that wasn't on the side of her fractured clavicle to his stubble. His eyes were a color she'd never seen before, dark cobalt and alive with desire.

"Kens..." His hand found her thigh, squeezing it slightly. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her heart hammered. His hand trailed up her body, but instead of doing something that could lead to things she could never take back, his fingers found hers. He was sitting next to her on the couch, their legs touching, foreheads pressed together, hands intertwined. After a moment he replaced the spot where the top of his head had been touching hers only to kiss her forehead, no doubt inhaling her sent. She still smelled like smoke and hospital, but that was okay because he did too.

After he broke the handhold, he snaked an arm around her waist with his head resting on top of hers, and she allowed herself to lean against him. Right now she didn't care about the ramifications that their most recent kiss could create; all she cared about was snuggling against his heart, very similar to the way she'd did earlier that day on a field next to a building ablaze. "Kensi, I'm sorry that I hurt you in all of this. I never wanted... I never intended..."

"It's okay, Deeks." She laid her palm flat over his heart, staring at the side of her fingers from her position on Deeks's chest. "It's okay. I'm okay. I just want you to be."

"I will be," he assured her, tightening his grip around her. "Soon."

"Promise?"

He pecked her lips when she craned her neck to look up at him as she awaited his answer. "Swear."

* * *

A day after that night on the couch together, she stopped returning his calls. All she could think about was the fire, the car, the bullet, him...

Even though it was 12 pm on a Saturday and she had Monday and Tuesday off because of her collarbone anyways, she called Granger. She asked him if the position was still open. When he said yes but that she'd have to leave immediately, she jumped at the offer, glad that she wouldn't have to look at his text message with content that kept becoming increasingly sadder popping up as notifications on her phone.

After sprawling out his address and shoving a quickly written note into the envelope, she loaded her weapons and stuffed the letter into her mailbox, praying one last time that he wouldn't do anything stupid while she was gone.

* * *

He hadn't heard from her since Friday, and Monday at work Hetty informed him that she was on a classified mission with assistant director Granger.

Just like that.

No warning, nothing. A make-out session and then...

Gone.

But it had been so much more than simply a 'make-out session' to him. She knew he loved her. She _knew_. He'd said as much in so many words, between "How's that for communication?" and his revelation that she was what had gotten him through the toughest situation of his life. And after last Friday, he knew that she had feelings for him. She'd told him that she couldn't live without him. It was the same for him, vice versa of course, but the same.

After the kiss, they'd turned on a movie, ate some of their food, laughed. It was like old times, and it took him back to years before sitting on the same couch watching Top Model, except this time they'd just poured their hearts out to each other and her cold beer was pressed to her clavicle, not her jaw. Later that night, much later, she'd fallen asleep against him. He wanted to follow suit, but unfortunately Monty was probably freaking out, so instead he'd sent her a text that he'd had to go and check on Monty, knowing she would understand when she saw it the next morning.

If he knew that she'd be gone on a mission that was well above her pay grade within hours after his departure, he wouldn't have left.

He wondered if it was out of her hands, hoped that it was a mandatory assignment and she unwillingly had to go if she wanted to keep her job. Contact with him before the mission was prohibited, and that was why she hadn't called, right? She didn't just leave... right?

His heart was heavy that Monday, and when he finally trudged home heartsick and discontented, he checked the mail before going inside. When he saw something that wasn't a bill in the stack of envelopes, his pulse quickened. After realizing the letter was from Kensi he didn't even wait to go inside; by the light of the streetlamps and the glow of his apartment's inhabitants' lamps and flickering TV screens shining through the windows, he tore open the envelope and read the letter, his hands shaking with nerves as he read what she had sent him.

_Deeks-_

_I'm sorry I had to leave on such short notice. I'm sorry for not calling you after you left Friday. I'm sorry for getting mad at you. I'm sorry for everything. What you had to go through, leaving you in that place, not trying hard enough to contact you over the summer, being a horrible communicator.  
I think you know how I feel about you more than I know how I feel about it. I hope you do, anyways. Granger offered me a mission three weeks ago, but with you scaring the hell out of me I refused it. Now, after everything, I think I need it. Nothing clears the mind like a few shoot outs (that was a joke, doofus).  
I need to know that you can function without me. I need to know that I can function without you. Please, please, please don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.  
When I get back, we're going to talk. And maybe make out some more. I just need time to think. I hope you can understand that.  
Don't worry about me. Stay safe. I'll miss you._

_-Kensi_

By the time he'd finally stumbled into his living room, he'd read the note thirteen times. He spent the next hour analyzing it, and then collapsed onto the couch, feeling like he'd just been hit by that car the Kensi had saved him from weeks prior. It took him until about midnight to realize that he should have expected it.

This was _Kensi_. Kensi, whose fiancé had left her because of the very condition he'd been diagnosed with. Kensi, the steadfast, stubborn as a bull, badass who'd lost her father, her partner before him, and probably had a body count even more impressive than that stashed away somewhere behind her walls. Of course she needed time to digest everything. Sort out her feelings. And under the main idea of the letter (that being the fact that she was leaving), there was an undeniable undercurrent of hope hidden beneath her hastily scribbled words written in her messier than usual handwriting. She'd accepted the fact that they had feelings that went well beyond a partnership for each other. She just needed to process that revelation.

He could be okay with that. He'd miss her and it would hurt like hell without her around, but he would cope. For her. That night he even decided he'd see a therapist. Surprise her when she got back. He would be fine.

But the next day when Hetty informed him that the mission was off-the-grid and they couldn't have any contact with Kensi or Granger, something felt off. He started to think. To worry.

By the end of the first week without her, he was a nervous wreck.

He talked about it with his new therapist, a man about his age who was a good listener and a former marine. Nate was back on assignment, and the man, Dr. Wilson, was almost as highly recommended as Nate was. Mr. Wilson had managed to calm him down, but it was only when Deeks had returned to his apartment that he realized the therapist hadn't once assured him that Kensi would be okay. How could he?

Mr. Wilson had no way of knowing. Nobody at NCIS had anyway of knowing. Hell, if Kensi did die it could take months to hear about it, much less get her body shipped back.

In honor of Kensi and in spite of the helplessness he felt, he stopped being an idiot. His motorcycle was long gone, and he took extra precaution in the field. He expected her to be doing the same, wherever she was.

He had nightmares nearly every night, always varied, always resulting in Kensi's death. He woke up crying once, and he hadn't cried in... well, he couldn't even remember the last time he cried. The next day, a Wednesday that Hetty had granted off after a job well done, he did something that he hadn't since he was fourteen.

He prayed.

Honest to God, in a chapel and everything, prayed. He drove to an old church that was empty but had an open alter, sat down on a pew, and spoke out loud to a God he had long since lost faith in.

"Jesus... uh, God... It's been awhile. Hi, it's me. Well, you can probably see it's me, me being Deeks, Marty Deeks, if you remember... Anyways, Kensi? My partner? She's in Afghanistan, but I guess you already know that, and I'd really appreciate it if you keep her safe. I'll read my Bible, pray, whatever... just..."

He sighed. Talking to God used to be easier. Back before he'd become a cop and seen the true horrors of Los Angeles, he could get on his knees when he needed to and pray. He hadn't did it since he was a kid, but he remembered that it hadn't been nearly as difficult.

Taking a deep breath, he tried once again, choosing his words as carefully as he could. "Listen, God, I'm sorry for everything I've did, the person I've become, the people I've hurt. I'm not supposed to bargain, and I'm not supposed to doubt You. But everything I've become, everything You've made me, You did it for a reason, and God, I think You know I couldn't make it without her. I love her, and I love You for giving her to me, and stuff's been really tough lately for us, and I know what I've did to deserve it but I don't understand what Kensi's did and now I'm rambling, but long story short please keep her safe. Please don't hurt her or punish her for my sins and bring her back to me, and forgive me, Father. I know it's a lot to ask, but could You send me a sign that she's okay? I'm going crazy down here, God. In Jesus' name I pray, amen."

That had been the end of it. He'd went home, stared at a blank television screen, and thought a lot about the sign he'd asked God for.

The next day, he got it.

Hetty told him that Granger had made contact with them through a burn phone, telling her that they should be back within two months if things went as planned, and if they went better than expected they could return in as soon as a month.

And his first response to that was to go into the bathroom, lock himself in a stall, and get down on his knees to thank God.

* * *

**A/n Special thanks to Nimi (s-sdensi) and Keaton (keatontoney) for the help!**  
**XOXO-**  
**Cierra**


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe a highly dangerous Op like the one she'd signed up for wasn't the best environment for trying to collect headspace.

"Blye! Get down!"

_Jesus._ They hadn't been off the plane for two minutes and bullets were already slicing through the air, zooming past her head and narrowly missing the corners of her ears, the sides of her jaw. "Cover me," Granger directed, and she complied, giving him enough leeway to run and crouch by the SUV that would lead them from their current predicament into a safe house where they could stay until they'd formulated an appropriate game plan.

He returned the favor, and before long they were hurried into the vehicle and speeding away with a team of SWAT agents that had been assigned to accompany them and help with the mission. "What was that?" Kensi asked, short of breath as the adrenaline coursed through her veins.

"Taliban. They really don't like Americans."

"Noted," she said, checking her gun to see how many bullets she had left.

"We don't interfere with them, we don't interfere with their country's business. We infiltrate Sohal's headquarters, kill him, and get the hell out of here, understood?"

"Yes, sir." The initial shock of the situation had fizzled away, and she allowed herself to relax slightly in her seat. Outside of the window barren terrain lay peppered with the occasional patch of green grass, beige mountain tops in the distance. The sky was cloudless, the sun hot but not relentless. It was actually cooler in Afghanistan than in Los Angeles, and being away from the intrusive sunlight that was a constant in the city that she called home was off-putting.

She remembered when he'd told her that she smelled like sunshine. For the record, he did, too. He smelt like sunshine and candy and musk and ocean, an addicting combination. God, she missed his scent already.

Once the car rolled to a stop in front of a tiny shack that was meant to house seven SWAT agents and two NCIS operatives for the next few months, Kensi suppressed a groan. The makeshift structure looked as if a ten year old had stacked a few bricks one top of the other and called it a day. There couldn't have been more than two bedrooms, and worse, one bathroom. A girl in the midst of a handful of guys with little to no privacy and unsanitary conditions was not something Kensi was looking forward to. "Gear up, Blye," Granger said, watching her facial expression fall as she laid eyes on the house with a smirk.

"Can it, Granger."

* * *

The guys were all nice, but, alas, they were still guys.

Loud, noisy, crude and smelly.

_"Oi! Stop hogging the ketchup!"_

_"Hey, park your ass in that chair, Mason. What do you think this is, preschool?"_

_"You've been in there for a decade! What did you do, fall in?"_

They were professionals when discussing the game plan, but between the eight of them she couldn't decide who was the biggest goofball, aside from Granger and the oldest of the men, a fifty-something year old former marine everybody called Teddy even though his real name was George Abbot. He was a kindred spirit with a haunted demeanor about him, the type that let on that he'd seen and heard things that most people would classify as hell. But his smile was still easy, and he was something akin to the den father of the tactical team. Most of the guys had been under his command for years, and they all very obviously looked up to him.

When they weren't discussing the mission's objective for the billionth time or reevaluating the upcoming ambushes, they were gathered in a circle with playing cards, cracking jokes and exchanging war stories. Kensi wasn't excluded but she wasn't classified as 'one of the guys'. They tried to give her special treatment because of her gender, but she would have no part in it. Despite the initial special treatment they all seemed to almost instantly like her, and even though Granger and herself weren't apart of SWAT they were welcomed.

"So we're crouched behind this couch, he has his shirt balled into one of his hands, this insane machine shooting lightening at us, and I say- swear to God- 'Deeks, pee or perish'!" She laughed at the memory, and a few spontaneous chuckles come from various places in the circle before one of the guys, a young, cheeky ex-army staff sergeant named Reynolds, asked, "But wait, the important question here is did he piss on the shirt?"

She laughed, shaking her head no. "Nah. Found a fish tank we could short the thing out with. We probably would've died if I hadn't. He kept going on about his, and I quote, 'Shy bladder'. I was like, really? We're about to get deep fried? Sane people would be pissing all over themselves."

"Your partner sounds like something else," one of the guys, easily the nicest of the bunch with a heart of gold and a newborn waiting for him at home named Sanchez commented.

"That's the understatement of the century," she replied, heart panging as she thought about Deeks. When she chuckled it sounded sad, but she played it off as genuinely as she could. "He's probably mad at me for taking this mission anyways. I did it as kind of a..." she searched for the right word before settling with, "retribution."

"Why? What'd he do?"

"Acting like an idiot. Throwing himself in front of cars, not taking shots, you know. He went through some tough stuff awhile back, messed him up a little. Doesn't want to admit anything's wrong with him. And Granger, about the throwing himself in front of cars thing, Hetty doesn't find out."

"Understood," the assistant director agreed easily, and Kensi nodded her gratification towards him.

"Yeah, I had a buddy who had real bad PTSD after leaving the army." The man talking now, a good guy and an even better tactical agent named Smith, spoke about his friend with an air of sadness. "Just couldn't shake it. That stuff messes people up."

She grimaced, remembering Jack and thinking about Deeks. "Tell me about it."

* * *

Six days in they had plans to send four people to hike to an undercover CIA agent who would provide them with some basic supplies, mostly more food and hygiene related items like shampoo and washcloths. Traveling on foot was a must so they wouldn't leave trails or set off warning bells in their black SUV. Kensi, a guy who was closer in age to a teenager than an adult who went by his last name which was Parker, and Sanchez were supposed to make the day long hike to the place they'd agreed to meet with the sleeper agent.

But the minute Granger placed the pack on her shoulders, she hissed in pain, all color draining from her face. "You okay, Blye?" he asked, noticing her discomfort.

"Fine," she gritted out, jaw clenched.

"Don't look fine to me," Teddy noted with a grunt, and Kensi refrained from muttering an explicit under her breath. She just wanted the damn pack off of her clavicle.

"Don't bullshit me Kensi. That's an order. Now what did you do to yourself, huh? Sleep on something the wrong way?"

"Didn't you hear about me almost getting blown up and breaking my collarbone the day before I took your mission?"

He gaped, unbelieving. "You're telling me that you've been walking around with a broken collarbone this whole time?"

"Fractured," she corrected, trying to shrug the bag off of her shoulder. "Other than backpacks, I am more than capable of completing this mission."

Sanchez quickly helped her ease of the remainder of the pack, laying it beside her. One of the SWAT guys, a wannabe doctor that had ended up in a police academy, Mason, eased the collar of her shirt down. "Here, let me see- Holy shit."

"It's not as bad as it looks," she insisted, but it was useless. He shook his head.

"How are you walking around with this?"

She glanced at the purple skin of her collarbone which was jutting out in a few strange places, shrugging with her good shoulder.

"Willpower?" she tried with what was meant to be a faux-cocky grin, but Reynolds blew out a laugh.

"Try bullheadedness."

"Whatever. I'm fine. Just somebody else take the pack. I'll take dish duty tonight. And dinner duty."

"Okay, dish duty is all fine and dandy, but after those tacos you fixed the other night I still don't have an appetite."

"They were not _that_ bad."

"Reynolds, get this pack on and stop babbling. Nobody wants to hear it," Teddy instructed, and Kensi smirked triumphantly. Reynolds scowled.

"Have fun on the hike," Kensi said with a chuckle, and Reynolds countered with, "Have fun with the dishes."

* * *

The smoke from the men's cigarettes and the overall smell of BO was suffocating, and as she tossed in her sleeping bag (she'd insisted on taking the floor when all of the guys had immediately offered her one of the few cots) she became aware that there was no way she'd be able to fall asleep with the sound of a group of grown men snoring like chainsaws. Sighing loudly and rolling out from under her blanket, she stepped over bodies carefully as she tried to maneuver outside without waking any of the guys, nearly tripping over two of them, one named Graham and another named Stevens.

When she'd finally made it to fresh air, she allowed herself a few deep breaths. She knew she should be sleeping. She knew. But the next day, the eighth day she'd been on assignment, was the date of the first part of the breach. They were knocking out one of the two properties that Sohal owned and operated for terrorism purposes. One of the more recent attacks had been on a aircraft carrier that was supposed to be heading from Afghanistan to Hampton but was intercepted before it could leave. Fourteen American marines had died, and more would if they didn't put an end to his radicalism efficiently. A few more attacks like the one that had taken place with marines shipping out of Camp Dwyer, and it could lead to the beginning of a war that hadn't even ended yet.

The job was stressful, especially when they didn't have the clearance to shoot back when Afghans fired at them unless they were directly associated with Sohal. They'd spent the first week planning their attack, and the next morning they would put it to action, which would be considerably harder because she couldn't close her eyes for more than two seconds without opening them again when a whiff of sweat-scented air hit her nose.

Her insomnia was only partially because of the unpleasant scent, which wasn't even _that_ bad. She was also nervous. They had no way of knowing how many men Sohal had at his disposal, and with a tactical team of only nine people including Granger and herself, it was more than just a risk. It was damn near impossible.

And then there was Deeks. She had no way of knowing if he'd taken the plea in her letter to heart, if he was taking care of himself or becoming delusional from lack of sleep. Or maybe he'd slipped up and second guessed himself in the field, not taking a shot when he should've. Maybe he was lying on a cold slate in the autopsy room, a bullet hole between his fair eyebrows.

"Agent Blye."

She refrained from startling, quickly schooling her emotions. Recognizing the voice, she didn't turn. "What do you want, Granger?"

"You should be sleeping." When she didn't reply, he closed the door behind him, joining her in the cold night air. It was cool enough that she could see her breath, but anything beat the air that was nearly unbearably hot thanks to so many grown bodies being jammed next to each other in cramped conditions. He leaned against the rickety fence that was attached to the porch, saying, "Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah," she agreed simply, wishing that he would leave her to her thoughts.

"You scared?"

She shrugged, feeling the lie on her tongue before she spoke it. "No."

Laughing quietly, he shook his head. "Of course not."

The sky was cloudless, the stars subdued because of the time of year but still vast, peppered across the pitch black sky like paint splattered onto a canvas. It was silent for a long time between the two of them before Granger said, "You know, Donny- your father and I- were friends."

She held her breath for a few seconds, mulling over thoughts in her head at Granger's sudden confession. She knew they'd been in the same sniper unit, and her dad had trusted that he would help protect Brad Stevens, but she'd never believed that they were close to each other outside of the battlefield.

Granger didn't look at her as he spoke, eyes trained ahead into the unlit darkness where, had it been day time, miles of horizon would stretch on for what felt like an infinity. "I remember when he first came to basic. He lost a contact and instead of going to the infirmary he told me he didn't want to make a bad impression and went through the whole of boot camp half blind. That son of a bitch was still the best shot I'd ever seen." Pausing, he chuckled to himself. "Only nineteen at the time. Said he had a girl waiting for him. We joined at the same time, fought on the same unit, basically lived together for a good three years. I was supposed to be his ring bearer, but I got sent on a last minute mission, had to miss the wedding. And when I came back after a few months, he told me Julia was pregnant."

He looked at Kensi when he finished his sentence, but it was her turn not to look at him. When it became clear that she wasn't going to comment, he continued. "Other than your mom and dad, I was the first person to hold you. He made me your godfather, Kensi."

Brow furrowing, she finally allowed herself to look at him. "I don't... I..."

"I should've told you sooner. But when I heard about you trying to track down Clairmont, I had to come to LA. The reason I didn't leave was because I promised him that I would take care of you if anything happened. And I did. You'd changed so much from the little three year old that I hadn't seen since I joined NCIS in DC. You look like Julia, but Kensi, you're your father made over."

She swallowed back her emotions, all of the confusion and confliction leaving her at a loss for words. "Why are you telling me now?" she finally asked weakly, unsure of which of the billions of questions she should ask first.

"This mission's a hard one. Who knows, could be my last chance. Thought you deserved to know."

"What about... What about after my dad died? Why didn't you get me off the streets if you were my godfather?"

"I never dreamed you weren't living with Julia. When I found out, I talked to my friend and he found you that job at the movie theater. He owed me a favor, and I doubted you wanted to come stay with a man you didn't know."

"You got me that job?"

"Yeah, I bailed him out of jail one night. Said he'd do anything to get it off his record." Dejectedly, he chuckled dryly. "I wouldn't lie about this, but just to prove my point and dispel your doubt, your walls in your room were yellow, your first dog was a golden retriever named Onyx, and you had a stuffed animal you named after your favorite food."

She shook her head in disbelief, and he smiled as he watched her. "Still don't believe me?"

"It's just a lot to take in," she answered, suddenly very tired and unsure. Of what, she didn't know. But things suddenly seemed different, yet nothing had technically changed. At least not immediately or physically. How this could affect the two of them, she had no idea. Granger'd never been one of her 'favorite people' per se, but somehow he was tied to her in ways she'd never imagined. It was all very, very strange. "I don't know what else to say."

"Neither do I," he admitted. "Kick some ass tomorrow, you hear me? And get some sleep."

She wanted to laugh. Like she could sleep with all of what he'd just told her on her mind.

He turned away, closing the door behind him when he reentered the shack.

* * *

Her stomach was twisted into knots, a lump of nerves lodged in her throat. Something was off.

She'd sensed it since before they'd stepped foot in the warehouse. Her gut instinct had always been reliable, her ability to judge a situation impeccable. As soon as she'd awoken that morning (after only an hour or two of sleep- she'd spent a majority of her night on the porch) she'd known that something bad was going to happen.

Right before they'd exited the vehicle that was taking them to their first target of the mission, she asked, "Anybody else have a bad feeling about this?"

But she'd never gotten a reply, because they were immediately ushered out of the car by Teddy and Granger, the unvoiced leaders of the group. The trudge up the hill to the nice adobe building had been a long one, and when they'd finally made it Kensi had a few beads of sweat on her hairline, her breath slightly shortened.

After being given the go-ahead, they charged inside, guns ready. But her instincts seemed to be screaming at her to turn around and retreat when they found the house eerily silent and seemingly empty. The outputting tranquility of the silence lasted for nearly ten seconds before all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Kensi's been shot."

The words were like a blow to his gut, and an awful feeling that resembled having ice cold water poured down his back made him shudder. He wanted to ask 'What When and How', but all he could manage was a small, "Kensi?"

Hetty seemed to understand what he was struggling to ask and filled him in on the details, voice very obviously struggling to retain its normal qualities. "Yes. Granger says she would like to speak with you."

"Wants to talk to me? I thought we couldn't have any contact with her. Isn't this mission off-the-"

"She wants to speak with you," Hetty repeated, this time firmly and pointedly. Between the tone of her voice and the awful feeling of dread in his stomach, Deeks understood. They were granting her her last request.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something, kill somebody. Break a bone. Burst into tears. Anything to ease the overwhelming agony that he felt. "When did it happen?" he managed, and when he heard his voice he realized how utterly beside himself he sounded.

"Three days ago. They've been trying to arrange to take her to Camp Dwyer, but they can't find a discreet window. Granger had to remove the bullet himself. I'm just warning you, her fever's really high. Granger said she's disoriented and seems to be experiencing hallucinations of some sort. He would like to see if you could try to calm her down any. Can you handle it, Deeks?"

"I... Yeah, I can... I can talk to Kensi." He ran a hand through his hair, tried to breathe. It was becoming increasingly more difficult.

* * *

The raid had gone terribly wrong, and they'd lost two men, one of whom was Teddy. The SWAT team was shaken up, and Kensi was injured.

He'd dragged her out by the collar of her jacket right before Reynolds tossed three hand grenades through the door, which effectively killed Sohal's men that were currently residing in the building. It was only after exiting that they realized Teddy and Mason were nowhere to be found.

She'd been coherent after she'd taken the bullet to her abdomen for a little while. But nearly three hours after he'd asked her if she was ready to have the bullet removed, he'd guessed that she'd developed an infection judging by her fever and sudden perplexity.

It had been hard, hearing her scream out in pain as he'd dug his pocket knife into the skin surrounding her bullet hole. It'd been even harder when she'd begged him to stop and he told her that he couldn't.

After the bullet was removed and unwrought gauze were positioned around her abdomen, she laid on the couch, hand clutching limply at her abdomen, a stray tear escaping occasionally. The men hardly left her side, and at least two were always within feet of her, one of them usually Granger. When she broke out into a cold sweat and started asking for her father, Granger didn't know how to reply. So he stayed silent.

He couldn't return her dad/his best friend to her, but when she started all but screaming her partner's name out, he dug out the one burn phone he'd brought with him and dialed Ops, leaving a message for Hetty updating her on what happened and explaining what Kensi wanted.

When his phone rang indicating that there was a call, he knew who it was without even looking.

"Kensi, there's someone who wants to talk to you."

* * *

"Kensi."

_"Deeks?" _

"Hey, partner," he said gently, trying to hide the hoarseness of his voice for her sake. "Hey, Kensi. Hey, it's me. It's okay."

_"Deeks,"_ she repeated, but this time it wasn't a question. This time it was spoken with relief, and he could've sworn he heard sniffling, the telltale sound of crying. _"Deeks, I want to go home."_

"I know, Kens. I want you to come home too. You just got to hang in there a little bit longer, okay? Think you can do that for me?"

Instead of answering his question, one he really needed her to justify with a response, she said, her voice a whisper, _"I miss you."_

It took a good three seconds for him to swallow past the ginormous lump in his throat, and when he finally regained to ability to formulate a response, it was him telling her that he missed her, too.

_"Deeks?"_

"Yeah, Kens? I'm still right here, okay?"

_"I'm sorry."_

"Why?" he asked, forcing out a choked-up laugh. "You don't have any reason to apologize, Fern."

_"I'm sorry,"_ she repeated again, her voice firm. _"I'm sorry."_

"No, it's okay. It's okay, Kensi. Everything's okay. You're going to be fine."

_"Not this time."_ At that point there was no doubt in his mind that she was crying.

Her words broke him, and for a second it was almost as if he was the one that had been shot, and she was the one who was mourning in advance. Their pain was so similar. They were on different ends of the line, but said line had been shaped into a circle and the ends had met, the hurt they were both experiencing now side by side, each having met their extremities.

"You have to hang in there for me. Promise me you will."

_"I'll try."_

* * *

He was pissed.

The weakness and defeat in her tone, the infection coursing through her body causing her words to slur. The tears in her voice, the strain of her body forcing out sentences against its will.

It was too much.

He was at the same church, but other than that everything was different.

"You know what, God? I trusted You. I put my faith in You. I tried to explain to You what would happen to me if anything happened to her on this trip. But it's not like I should've expected anymore, right? I mean, nobody's ever been there for me before. Just thought You might be different. I guess it was my fault, then, for being stupid and expecting somebody to care." He kicked one of the old pews, rammed his fist into the depleted wall. "So, forgive me," he spat out sarcastically, the rational part of his brain telling him that he wasn't making his case any better.

By the time he left, he had tears rolling down his cheeks and a few knuckles that he was pretty sure were broken.

* * *

"C'mon, Blye," Granger growled, squeezing her hand just as hard as she was squeezing his. She'd left the point of complete consciousness a long time ago, but she wasn't yet unconscious, which really sucked. The pain she was obviously in would've destroyed any other person in a matter of minutes, but still, stubborn, deliberate bad-ass Blye hung on.

After she'd gotten off the phone with Deeks, she'd broken into tremulous chills and started speaking nonsense, most of it laced with explicates and weird unconnected strings of words that trailed off her lips between gasps of pain. The other guys constantly brought her more ice cold water and damp cloths, making absolutely positive that she was hydrated. They'd been able to dig up a few Tylenol, but other than that Kensi was completely on her own.

"You can fight this," Granger coached, tone holding no room for argument (not that she could in the condition she was in). "Kensi. You're stronger than this."

"Can't we give her another Tylenol or something?" Parker asked. The kid's face was as white as a ghost and had been ever since he'd heard about Teddy dying and saw Kensi's infected wound.

"Yeah, Granger. I mean, it can't exactly hurt," Reynolds pointed out. Of all the men, Reynolds and Kensi seemed to be the fondest of each other. Maybe it was because his attitude reminded her of Deeks, or maybe it was because the annoyance in their relationship created the illusion of siblings rather than colleagues. Whatever it was, if both of them got out of this mission alive Granger was almost positive that they'd stay in touch.

But, of course, one of them was probably not going to return home. And as of now, Kensi was the closest to death between the two.

Granger shook his head 'no', eyes never leaving Kensi's face which was contorted in pain, her breathing long since shallow and forced. "We're running short. We need to space it out."

"Well we can't exactly do that if she dies within the hour, now can we?"

"Reynolds, stand down. Have a little faith."

"We need more than faith. We need a fucking miracle."

"Then get on your damned knees and pray for one. At least then you wouldn't be standing around acting like a fucking imbecile."

"Who died and made you the boss, huh?" Reynolds spit out, hands balled into fists.

"We both know the answer to that." Granger's voice had lowered considerably, his anger replaced with sadness. "We both know the chain of commands. None of this fighting is helping her predicament, understand? We'll give her some more medicine in a few hours. In the meantime, get some sleep. All of you."

"Hell no, sir. You're not going to bed. Neither are we."

So the group of them stayed up, listening to Kensi groan and mumble and cry out in pain. Granger dabbed cool water against her forehead, and as the cloth came into contact with her skin she panted, forcing out his name. "Granger?"

He grabbed her hand once again, and her grip was like a vice, her knuckles turning white. It was the fourth day since the raid, and the sun was about to rise, birds chirping in the near dawn light. She'd been fighting for a good forty eight hours nonstop, and it was obvious that she was exhausted. "Kensi? I'm right here."

He waited for her to say something else, anything. But she didn't.

And two hours later, miraculously, her fever broke.

"Is she sleeping?" Sanchez asked, and it sounded like he was holding his breath, like he was afraid of what the answer would be.

"Yeah," Granger said, and he smiled, relief crashing over him. "She's sleeping."

* * *

**A/n Thank you Maddie (NCISLAlover24) for proofing this colossal chapter. And thank all of ya'll for reading it. I planned for this to be a three shot, but it might turn into a four shot. Love you guys!**  
**XOXO-**  
**Cierra**


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